Name: Winchester, Dean Born: January 24, 1979 Occupation: Soldier
by velveteenspirit
Summary: Dean Winchester was a soldier. He had fought all of his life. But what if the reason he'd been fighting all this time doesn't need him anymore? Oneshot. Angst!Dean/Sam Set Season 9. Written 'cause I've noticed a few of Dean's mannerisms lately. Very first fan fiction, so please let me know what you think, even if it's negative.


Dean Winchester was a soldier. A grunt. A shell used in battle. Sammy was always the brain, Dean was the bleeding, broken heart - not that anyone had to know that. No chick flick moments. But Dean was no ordinary soldier. He fought demons and he fought vampires, and he never complained when the blood of some creature got on his shirt, or when he broke a bone from a fly across the room. Dean Winchester just kept struggling through. How many times had he lost the people he loved? God knew it was far too many to count. So now, as Dean lay on his bed in the bunker listening to music, pinching between his nose in frustration, other hand tugging at his hair, he wondered what happened. Why.

The man - and there really was no other way to describe Sammy anymore, the guy was huge - on the other side of the door was never gonna forgive him for the angel thing. But he had no other goddamn option. Literally none. "_Most importantly - look after Sammy_". That is why he was a soldier. Not because of his perfected gun cleaning routine, not for the khaki he was more than partial to, not for the near emotionless killing methods he had grown accustomed to. He was a soldier for the amulet hanging around his neck just now as it had since the day he got it - his own personal dog tags. He was a soldier for the sacrifices he had made, from missing the stupid school prom to giving his life. He was a soldier for the mantra, the order, drilled into him just as hard as any "left, right, left, right". Look after Sammy. Look after Sammy. LOOK. AFTER. SAMMY. Dean Winchester liked to think that he'd remember that 'til his dying day. Shit, hopefully that'd be the reason he went out.

But as some crappy Journey song shuffled its way into his ears, he wondered if his duty was over. Of course, over the years, he'd been branded like a damn cow with countless scars, these 'tattoos' of a war he didn't understand. But as he traced the uneven skin, he found himself forgetting. Wendigo? Poltergeist shrapnel? As his fingers lightly traced over the area where his heart used to beat so strongly, so enthusiastically in his chest, he wondered if that one was Sam. Well, no. The lack of Sam. Because where was the need for someone like Dean anymore. His brother's hunting skills nearly equalled his own, he was way brighter than Dean would ever be, and he still had a light at the end of the dark, long tunnel they called being a Winchester. The world would keep going without him, that was for sure. Suddenly interrupted from his musings, Sam walked into the room and sat on the bed.

"What the hell, man?! I was just about to crack out the new Busty Asian Beauties - 5 minutes later and this would've been as traumatising as the time I caught you and Claire Waldorff in the back of my baby when you were 17!"

Sam ignored him, completely goddamn ignored him.

"Well, fine, see if I care, I can ignore you too, Sammy," he smirked, and replaced his headphones. Still, he watched the younger Winchester like a hawk, because that's what he does. Did.

It was then that Sam put the objects in his hands down on the bed. Perfectly folded khaki clothes, boots polished to perfection. Huh, Sammy must've done it. He was a good kid; that's how Dean had raised him. He was about to thank him when he noticed. Khaki and polished boots. A soldier. Just a soldier. So he stayed quiet. Soldiers stay quiet, do as they're told. Look after Sammy. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.

"Dean…" Sam whispered, so quietly, he would've missed it if it wasn't for his Sammy-radar. Now, _that_ perked Dean's attention. His tone was defeated. Like he'd given up on De-… Oh. When a soldier isn't needed anymore, they have to leave. Is this it? Giving up was going to be great. Drinking whisky 'til he reached oblivion. Fucking a girl in every state. Again. Watching the world burn and not caring. But for now, Sam wanted to talk, so he would listen. He put on his best carefree Dean Winchester smile, his most common piece of clothing, and casually replied, "Yeah, Sam?"

Sam's hand was scrunched so tight, his knuckles were white. Stress. Frustration. Classic Sammy angst. Ok, so this was a chick flick moment. Great. But nothing was said. For five minutes, Sam did nothing but stare at the half finished beer beside Dean's bed from a few days before, in the middle of a particularly annoying vamp nest hunt. Now Dean was getting worried.

"Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes. Opened them. Closed them tight. Breathed in, and exhaled.

"Dean…I'm sorry. You only ever wanted what was best for me, and I see it now. I washed your best clothes for you. Polished those boots of yours. I swear, there's dirt on there from prehistoric times… Anyway. I kind of looked at them and put some pieces together. Lots of camo, khaki, yknow..and maybe I'm talking crap here but you uh…you've never been a soldier, Dean. Not to me. To me, you've always been the bright hope in soldiers' eyes. The smile on the faces of families as their loved one gets home from a tour. Hell, you've always been the reason people fight - to protect. I think we're both done fighting now, huh?" he smiled a sad smile. So Sam had given up on him. It was only a matter of time. Dean stood to start packing - hell, this was the first home they'd ever gotten, no way was Sammy going without one now. But it still hurt when Sam made no move to stop him. Just kept staring at the bottle.

Clearing his throat, Sam continued, "So yeah, I just wanted you to know. I'm so damn proud of you. You fought for so long, and so hard, to protect me from the conflict. It didn't always work, and hell, I didn't always appreciate it, but you did your best. And I…won't try to see you again or contact you, no matter what Cas says. We both deserve to rest, now. I'll look after your baby, but I think this should stay here with you."

Dean was about to explode at any mention of his baby being with anyone BUT Dean (and break down from Sam's decision) when he noticed Sam's tight fist unfurling. Out of it fell a necklace onto the bed. No, not a necklace. An amulet. Dean's amulet. He looked down at his chest to make sure it was still there. Yeah of course it was, it was right underneath his khaki shi…rt. With his khaki jeans. And his black, scruffy boots that had dirt on them from prehistoric times.

"Anyway, Dean, it's been a couple of days now. Your room looks just the same. Fuck, there's even a beer you didn't finish before we left for the hunt. I miss you, man. I can't believe they got the drop on us. I, uh…it didn't look painful, at least. Quick, I mean. But I shouldn't have let that one get away at the start. You jumped in front of me, protected me. It's my fau- no. That's how this all started. It happened. And I'm… alone now. But you deserve this so…say hi to Mom, and Dad. Bobby. Ellen, Jo. Kevin. Everyone…Jess. Tell her I'm waiting, and no stealing her, man, I got dibs… Dean, you're my big brother. You always will be. That's the only soldier I'll ever need. I hope you remembered something other than Dad's '_look after sam_' shit when we were kids, man. Cos just as many times as he said that, I said to you…d'you remember? I said, '_hey Dee, can I be like you when we grow up?_' I didn't, man. Cos, Dean, you were so much more."

He wandered over to the beer, picked it up, looked past Dean's eyes to the room around him, and said, "Here's to you, jerk. My brother, my parent, my best friend. I hope there'll be peace now you're done." Sipping the drink, he half-sobbed, half-laughed, and walked out, not looking back. Dean heard him quietly humming _Hey, Jude_ under his breath, with a small smile on his face.

Dean sighed. Why was he not surprised. He hadn't spoken to, or seen Sammy, for the past couple of days 'cause he thought Sam just hadn't wanted to know. Dean didn't remember dying this time. He didn't remember any difference between being alive or dead. But it didn't matter.

He'd made peace with Sammy. He'd done it. He'd looked after Sammy. His mission was complete. The war was over. Dean couldn't see the light at the end of the tunnel because he was already being blinded by it. Yes, Dean Winchester was a soldier. He'd fought for 35 long years. Hell of a tour.

But finally, _finally_, it was time to go home.


End file.
